


Slave

by SeverinadeStrango



Category: Sengoku Basara
Genre: Akechi Mitsuhide is His Own Warning, BDSM, Captivity, Drug Use, Implied Sexual Content, Internal Conflict, M/M, Masochism, Mildly Dubious Consent, Surrealism, Unhealthy Power Dynamics, Voluntary Captivity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 06:06:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18138422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeverinadeStrango/pseuds/SeverinadeStrango
Summary: There is no escape.  Mitsuhide welcomes his oblivion at the hands of those who toppled him.





	Slave

When the tears came, he could not fight them. Why should he have fought them – it was not as if the one who would have so strongly disapproved of this was around any longer to do so, he had made plenty sure of that. Both his biggest regret and his most exhilarating triumph, it was nigh impossible to separate one from the other and Mitsuhide had long since given up trying. He slumped against the cold floor, making a wretched choked noise from the back of his throat. 

There there. Hand on his head. He leaned into it and felt sick with himself. Was this what he had become, was this what he wanted – he could hear his old Lord screaming at him to _wake up_ and to stop suspending himself in this world of temporary delusion. For a moment he was more tempted than ever to comply. Is this all that you were ever capable of amounting to?

Yes.

The hand trailed from the top of his head to just underneath his pointed chin, Mitsuhide, look at me. He obliged, having no reason not to do so. You understand why you were allowed to live. His gracious protector, Lord Tanekana was ever so kind to him, disgraced and far from home (had he heard that thought Mitsuhide would have been punished – as was made plenty clear to him, _this_ was his home now). Owari was but a distant sting.

“Go to your Lord.”

He did.

It was a miracle that Mitsuhide was still able to stand, what little wiry muscle had remained on his body had long since atrophied away, he could not remember the last time he had actually been _outside_ of these walls, and his eyes knew nothing more than these two, his skin knew nothing more than their hands. It was as if they were trying to erase everything that had come before them – and they were, both in here and on the battlefield.

“He’s been waiting for you.” Lord Hideyoshi nodded in acknowledgement with a wordless grunt, and then with little effort, lifted Mitsuhide right up off of the ground and into his lap. It was humiliating, how comforting he found it here. He was held. He was needed, even if it was for a use that was so simple, so base that it was a stain on everything he had ever once been. But at the very least he no longer had to fight to remain – if anything, he should have been fighting to leave, to escape, but he did not want to and ultimately could hardly find it in himself to even think of it.

The pipe was pressed into his hand by one of them – he didn’t know which, but could hear them both, talking faintly over his shoulder as he slumped forwards against the warrior who had defeated him, who had brought retribution crashing swiftly down on his head. He took the pipe with exhausted gratitude, placing it to his dried, cracked lips and inhaling deep, closing his eyes. The smoke was harsh on his scratchy throat and a balm on everything else – he would accept it without hesitation, of course. 

This was constant. And so was whatever would happen next, in a way – it was constant in the sense that it was not. Lord Hideyoshi’s whims could change in an instant, but very rarely did – like a much more stagnant version of Lord Nobunaga’s behavior, but he was still at his mercy nevertheless, he was still hung there, suspended in midair, awaiting his salvation or condemnation. Or both. 

Lord Hideyoshi’s rough hand came to rest on the top of his head and Mitsuhide squeezed his eyes closed, overwhelmed with the inexplicable urge to curl up, to make himself as small as possible. Maybe he would disappear, if he hoped hard enough – but he couldn’t, not when he was so _wonderfully_ anchored down.

“He’s waited for you, Hideyoshi. More compliant than I’ve ever seen him before.” There was, he presumed, a nod of approval that he couldn’t see – he didn’t want to open his eyes, and even if he had, Mitsuhide doubted that he would have been able to see clearly in his opium-addled haze. He might have taken some pleasure in the fight, in the struggle, some time ago – but that was when he had fight left in him, and when he had something to pull himself towards. Now there was nothing nothing nothing but the next short high, the next wave. 

And for now, that was here.

“I doubt he will object to anything you might desire.”

There it was. It stung, like a cold slap to the face in all the worst ways, because it was true. He would not object, and furthermore, he would not have wanted to object. This was where he wanted to be – there was no alternative, his last means of bringing back his one and only true purpose having fallen away from him on that ravine. Talking about him like he was not there because there was no use. He would take anything at this point – anything to anchor him down, to keep him from fading away from everything he had ever known to a place where every experience was dulled and dimmed. 

Usually this would lead onwards as predicted, he’d be guided to his knees without any further delay, or perhaps pushed onto his back and if he was _lucky_ it was similar enough to his Lord’s touch for him to imagine that it _was –_

But this time there was nothing more, nothing more than a touch on his head and the shift of their weights as Hideyoshi leaned back. You may rest tonight deserves a reward so much more than a collection of bruises, he could only pick up on every fifth word that was spoken between Lord Hideyoshi and his tactician and that was if he was lucky. The opium pipe still at his lips, he inhaled deeply and sighed, his vision bleary, limbs heavy. Would this be all that he was still useful for?

Yes it was. He would gladly accept it.


End file.
